


Night and Day

by rosamynal



Series: Cacoethes Scribendi [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Apologies, Au Ra Xaela (Final Fantasy XIV), Blood Drinking, Honey, Hyur (Final Fantasy XIV), Loss of Control, Other, POV Second Person, Possession, Strawberries, Two Minds One Body, Voice Kink, Voidsent (Final Fantasy XIV), Wait what happened here?, pleasure - Freeform, rough hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22190953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosamynal/pseuds/rosamynal
Summary: Having received the sign that he wished to see you, you travel to the customary meeting place.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Reader
Series: Cacoethes Scribendi [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1452643
Comments: 14
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [koosei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/koosei/gifts).



A pair of muscular arms embrace you from behind, taking you by surprise. A rough chuckle echoes in your ear as the owner drags you backwards until you hit his toned chest. You sense the tall Highlander shift behind you and lean down so he can press his lips against the soft skin in the crook of your neck. His large, calloused hand gently tugs at your collar, exposing more skin as it follows the contours of your shoulder. His stubble tickles you as he leaves a trail of light kisses on the exposed skin. You can’t tell if the rising goosebumps are from the sudden exposure to the cool air or to  _ him _ .

“It’s been some time, pet.”

His voice is low and  _ dark _ . It resonates within him, vibrating in your ears and down your spine. It steals the air from your lungs and sends your heart into a frenzy. It coils in your belly and sets fire to your loins. The following chuckle is no better.

“Shame on you,” he chides, voice somehow deepening. 

The rough pads of his fingertips slide down your clothed arm, only to slip under your shirt. The arm encircling your torso tightens its embrace as if to keep you trapped—not that you would ever wish to escape his warm, enveloping hold.

“Who gave you  _ permission _ ,” he growls, “to be away from me for so long?”

His nose finds its way back to the crook of your neck. His long, black hair drapes over your shoulder as he nuzzles into your neck. He breathes in deeply, exhaling a wistful sigh as his left hand idly traces shapes into your skin. You feel him lean his weight into you, just enough to emphasize his presence. 

“My  _ favorite _ ,” he purrs. “No other compares to  _ you _ , my pet. How dare you make me feed from these  _ lesser _ beings?”

His voice oozes over you. It soaks into your skin, through your muscles, and down to your very bones. His arms squeeze you tight, muscles pressing against you as they flex with the effort. Another deep inhale of your scent follows. The tip of his nose lightly trails up your neck to trace the shell of your ear. He exhales a controlled breath through his nostrils. His touch on your ear vanishes only to be replaced by the feel of his stubble as he brings his mouth close.

“Do  _ not _ leave me again. Understood?”

The firm command strikes you at your core, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. You instinctively lean into the man, who easily supports you before your legs can give out. His large, left hand palms your side with ease; his calloused thumb rubs against the soft skin of your stomach. His right hand slides up to grasp your bared shoulder. Fingertips roughly dig themselves into your exposed skin as he takes more of your weight into his arms. 

He noses along your jawline. You tilt your head back to expose more of your neck to him. His stubble scratches against your skin as he lifts the corner of his mouth in a smirk. 

He nips the tender skin of your neck. Nothing more than a warning, but it’s enough to stir something within you. A moan of anticipation breathes against your skin. His mouth moves and he nips another spot. Your breath catches at the sensation of his fangs as he drags them over the surface of your skin. Something gathers in your veins and it  _ burns _ . Heat pulsates through your veins with each heartbeat like liquid fire. It’s hot enough to make the man’s warm embrace feel like ice against your skin.

You gasp. Pain fills your senses as blood flows from you into the man’s mouth. His needy moan vibrates against your skin while he clutches you tightly. A haze falls over your senses, clouding your vision and making your limbs feel heavy. Pleasure ripples into you from where his skin makes contact with yours, numbing the pain. Instead, your mind only focuses on his lips gently suckling your neck, drawing more and more of your lifesblood into him. You fully melt into his arms with a lusty sigh of your own. You’re faintly aware of the rumble in his chest like the appreciative purr of a kitten lapping at milk. Your consciousness fades into the darkness, aided by the comforting sound.

* * *

You wake atop a warm bed with a heavy weight keeping you in place. The bed shifts as you stir. It moves as a soft chuckle reaches your ears. A hand holds your head still. Part of the bed closest to your head lifts and a gentle kiss is pressed to the crown of your head. You open your eyes to find a pair of yellow orbs studying you from the man’s face. A warm smile stretches his lips just before he speaks.

“You slept deeply; I was worried.”

His voice is smoother and as warm as any blanket you’ve wrapped yourself in. You smile back, realizing you had slept on top of him. He lifts his head to kiss your forehead this time. His right hand gently caresses your face with the backs of his fingers. His eyes catch the morning light from the nearby window making them sparkle.

“I would almost say you’re more trouble than you’re worth, my dear,” he mused. 

Your expression hardens into a glare. The Highlander laughs heartily, fangs glinting in the sunlight. He rolls over, dropping you onto the bed. He props himself over your surprised form with one hand at each of your shoulders. He lowers himself for a deep kiss. He still tastes of copper, but it’s sweet all the same. When he breaks it, he nuzzles the curve of your cheek before pushing himself back up.

“It’s a  _ joke _ ,” he grins. “Rhalgr’s beard, you never could take a joke.”

He sits up, scoops you into his arms, and brings you close to his chest. His voice lowers to a gentle rumble as he runs a hand through your hair. 

“I do enjoy when he feeds from you. It means I get you for the morning when he  _ overindulges _ .”

It traces the curve of your head and comes to rest in the crook of your neck where he had bitten you the night before. His thumb gently strokes the spot as regret fills his eyes. You strain your ears to hear his murmur.

“As he always does.”

His yellow eyes light up just before the sudden grin on his face scrunches them tight. He stands up and carries you out of his bedroom.

“You’ll be glad to hear that I’ve been practicing a few recipes. I shouldn’t start  _ too _ many fires trying to make breakfast this time.”

Your hand tensely grips the loose shirt he slept in. He smirks at your reaction as he climbs the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another summons, but this one more urgent and far earlier than normal.

He forces you against the wall with a deep growl. Air flees your lungs with the strength of his shove. The black claws of both hands dig into your shoulders despite your leather armor. His yellow eyes gleam from the shadows below his brow. Once you recognize the man looming over you, you notice the fresh cut on his left temple dripping blood down his face. He bares his fangs with an annoyed snarl before you can question him.

"I expect _immediacy_ when I summon you.”

You try to explain that your work had taken you outside of the city. It was only by _chance_ that—

His hold drops down to the front of your armor. The tall Highlander slides you up the wall until you’re eye level with him. He lunges forward, ripping a harsh kiss from you before glowering.

“No excuses,” he growls.

Without warning or further preamble, he bites into your neck. Your senses explode with pain. Your scream is stifled by the hand that harshly clamps over your mouth. You reflexively grab on to the muscular man and try to pull yourself closer, but he pins you to the wall with one hand. He pauses his drinking to snarl a deep “ _No_ ” into your skin.

The man drinks deeply and greedily. You expect the wave of pleasure to come, but only feel your pulse grow faint. You weakly claw at him but, lacking any strength, your hands simply slide off. You whimper into his palm.

He wrenches his mouth away from your neck. Pain sparks through you as the motion tears the wounds wider. His hands quickly adjust their grip. He presses one to the bite. His blood-drenched mouth grimaces as he murmurs a quick spell. The Highlander hisses in pain as you feel the wounds stitch closed.

His hold on you softens and he eases you to the ground. He leans in. A moment later, you feel his tongue gently lapping at the blood left behind on your neck. You struggle to keep your eyes open in the face of your sudden fatigue. You go limp. 

The man swearing under his breath is the last thing you hear.

* * *

The sound of creaking wood and lapping waves stirs you to consciousness. You try to sit up, but your head spins. You fall back with a defeated groan and screw your eyes shut, praying to anything that would hear you for the dizziness to _stop_.

A chair creaks to your right. Another screeches to your left. You open your eyes to find the Highlander hovering on your left. To your right is a Hellsguard with pale skin and black hair. She smiles at you before focusing her amber eyes on the Highlander. 

“Seems your friend pulled through.” She jabs a finger at him. He flinches back only to bare his fangs at her in a snarl. “Now, _next_ time you’re badly injured, come to me, understand? I have means of acquiring blood that don’t require you to nearly kill what you claim is your ‘favorite pet’.”

The man growls in response before turning his head away from the Hellsguard. She crosses her arms with a triumphant smirk and glances down at you.

“I managed to replace the blood you lost. Rest up. Eat well today and tomorrow. Don’t do anything too strenuous for the next few days.” She jerks her thumb at the Highlander. “Don’t let our friend anywhere near your neck, either.”

He growls at her warning, but otherwise remains silent. She momentarily eyes him before gathering her things and bidding both of you a good day. Once the door has closed, the Highlander sits on the edge of your bed.

As his yellow gaze sweeps over you, you notice the wound on his temple has healed, leaving a faint scar. From what you can see of the rips and tears in his armor, you get the feeling the blow to his head hadn’t been his only injury.

He lifts his left hand and hesitantly eases it towards you before recoiling. You notice the claws have vanished from the tips of his fingers. He glances to his right and murmurs something under his breath, ending it with a heavy sigh. His eyes slide shut before he addresses you.

“You will be glad to hear that I am being berated.” He makes a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “He says I should be _thankful_ that you saved my… _our_ existence. Fine, alright. _Lives_ . Either way, he is saying I should… _repay_ you in some way to show my appreciation.”

His eyes open to fix you with a cold, yellow stare.

“That I did not drain you to a dried husk the first time I fed from you should be enough of a sign, but he says I cannot relinquish control until I have thanked you in a substantial way.”

You find yourself wondering how that could be a threat. When he smirks, you realize your thoughts must have been obvious in your expression.

“Because if I _do_ hand control of this body back to him, he has made it very clear that I won’t have it again for about a year. And for a creature like myself that values its freedom above all, well,” he chuckles, “it’s a compelling argument.”

A smirk slowly tugs at his lips as his eyes sweep over you. There’s a hint of appreciation in them, but it’s gone before you can get a better look. His hand comes up to hold his chin. He hums in thought.

“A shame the healer forbade you from strenuous activities,” he mused in a lower tone than normal. “I have a few ideas in mind, but they are all rather _active_.” 

The last word lingers and vibrates in his throat while his eyes narrow in… mischief? Amusement? You aren’t sure what to call it, but it seizes you all the same. 

His face suddenly twists into a grimace. He tosses a glare over his right shoulder.

“I am _not_ ,” he snarls, “I am doing as you asked—nothing more!”

The man stands and crosses the room to where his bag lays against a dresser, muttering under his breath the entire way. It was the first time you had seen either one interact with the… You aren’t even sure what to call it. The other half? The other personality? The other man?

You manage to gingerly sit up as he faces away from you and strips off his chest piece. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the scars across the Highlander’s muscular torso. The hatchwork on his back especially catches your eye. He glances over his shoulder, having evidently sensed your blatant gaze. The man turns around with a chuckle and spreads his arms to the side, affording you a clearer look at his bare chest and the muscles moving just below his skin.

“Intrigued by the body of someone too stubborn to die? Perhaps when you’re in better health, we can tell you the memories behind these trophies.”

You worry that your gulp is audible—not to mention visible. Judging by the slow spread of his teasing grin, it _was_. Had the room always been this hot?

He slowly turns around, leans over, and pulls a clean linen shirt from his bag. He slips his head and arms inside before letting the fabric fall over his torso, obscuring it from sight. He bends over again to remove his trousers. You stare at the way his dark smallclothes hug his ass and thighs. His leg muscles flex and relax as he threads his long limbs into a fresh pair of black trousers. Isn’t blood loss supposed to leave you feeling cold? Where is this heat coming from?

He snatches up a pair of worn, knee-high boots before finally facing you again. 

“Well, healer’s orders. Let’s get you lunch. _My_ cooking abilities are better suited to a hunter’s camp, but luckily I brought you to Limsa and my face is known well-enough to get us a seat at that restaurant everyone seems to enjoy.” 

He pauses just as he’s about to sit down on the bed. 

“Yes. The Bismarck. Whatever,” he grumbles to himself and sits to pull on his boots. “You’re lucky I remembered _you_ have to eat.”

The man stands up, tapping his toes and heels on the wood floor to help settle the shoes. He gestures to a spot beside the bed before heading to the door.

“You’re still dressed in the bloodied shirt from this morning. I’ll wait outside the door while you change. Call for me if you feel at all dizzy; don’t want him to think I’m being _negligent_ —despite forbidding me from staying in the room with you.”

The door closes behind the Highlander, leaving you alone to process what just happened. What exactly have you been dragged into?


	3. Chapter 3

He leans against the wall by the door. As to be expected, Malruk soon chimes in with his opinion.

_ I hope that next time, you  _ **_listen_ ** _ when I tell you to stop. You could have killed them. _

“You’ve already given me this scolding, boy. Must I sit through it again?” he murmurs.

_ If that is what it takes to make you learn, Wyrsa, then  _ **_yes_ ** _! _

The voidsent rolls his eyes at the Hyur’s insistence. He crosses his arms and tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling while Malruk continues reprimanding him. 

Mercifully, the door to the room creaks open a few minutes into the lecture. You peek your head into the hallway before stepping out in clean clothes. Wyrsa smirks and pushes off the wall.

“Since you’re presentable, let’s get you something to eat.”

He takes a few steps down the hall before Malruk pipes up again.

_ Don’t just make them walk alone! You nearly bled them dry this morning; offer them your arm. _

“And that woman replaced the blood; they are fine to walk,” he hisses under his breath.

His legs stop responding to  _ him  _ and root themselves in place, nearly throwing him forward. His arms wheel about as he regains his balance. Decades of sharing the Hyur’s body made the voidsent realize what he wanted. Wyrsa turns to face you with a defeated sigh. He offers a gloved hand to you.

“Foolish of me to think you may already be recovered,” he says. “Allow me to help you; I wouldn’t want my favorite pet to wander too close to the edge of a walkway and fall into the sea, now would I?”

You seem taken aback by his offer. The reaction makes the voidsent wonder  _ why _ , but he quickly pushes the thought away upon sensing the Hyur’s smug satisfaction. Wyrsa sighs and closes the short distance between you before offering his arm.

“Come now, I won’t bite—not when you’re recovering. I am not a monster.”

_ I believe we know some people who would argue otherwise. _

“Do not make me throw this body into the sea, boy,” Wyrsa snarls under his breath.

_ You wouldn’t dare,  _ Malruk counters.  _ It would leave you without a vessel on the Source and doom you to returning to your home shard, as you have so often reminded me. And if you’re so capable of not being a monster, then  _ **_prove_ ** _ it. _

A growl rumbles in his throat. It stops suddenly as you thread your hand through his arm and lean into him. He glances down at you in blatant surprise while Malruk bursts into laughter in his mind. You apologize, explaining you still feel a little weak. 

An idea strikes him. He pats your hand in the crook of his arm and begins walking down the hallway.

“Don’t worry yourself, pet,” he assures you. “If you feel that weak, then it may be wiser to bring the food to  _ you _ rather than the other way around. I’ll deposit you in the common room so you can at least watch people while I fetch your meal.”

_ Our meal. _

“ _ Our _ meal,” Wyrsa adds, rolling his eyes at Malruk’s insistence. 

He senses the Hyur’s approval at the idea, however, and smirks. 

Once he has helped you to a table, the voidsent takes note of what you want to eat. He fetches you a jar of water and a cup before walking out of the northern entrance of the Drowning Wench. After a brief walk, he reaches the Bismarck where a Miqo’te waitress recognizes him and greets him.

“What brings you all the way out here, Mal? I don’t think we’ve had any patrons skip out on paying lately.”

“I’m actually here  _ as  _ a patron this time, kitten. Could you run an order to the kitchens for me? I left someone waiting back at the Wench and they’re a bit peckish.”

The waitress smirks and her ears perk up as she takes his order.

“I had you pegged as more of a gentleman, Mal,” she remarks, eyes skimming over what she had written. “You can’t just keep someone  _ waiting  _ for you. I’ll let them know to rush this order.”

She vanishes into the restaurant with a decisive flick of her short tail. The voidsent sits at an empty table to wait for the food. Propping his elbows on the surface, he entertains himself by studying the aether of those wandering the area. 

After a few minutes, his yellow gaze lands on a red-haired, female Miqo’te entering the Bismarck. He smiles upon noting her aetheric pattern and potency. Sure enough, the Hyur voices his opinion.

_ You just fed. _

Wyrsa snarls in annoyance.

“You let the little one purchase food when she isn’t hungry,” he spits, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. “Why not let me scope out sources with a sated appetite?”

_ You already have enough Lominsan sources. _

“Another never hurt. To make it all the better, it seems  _ that _ one is an adventurer, which makes her a carry out meal.”

_ Will you stop? You’re practically salivating. People are going to think I’ve gone mad. _

“As stupid as your kind can be, I would hope they’ve already grown suspicious of you,” Wyrsa murmurs. “Even the most obtuse Spoken will realize that we have not aged one day in the sixty or so years we have been wandering these lands. Which, if you don’t mind my saying so, you look rather fit for a man of eighty-eight summers. It makes feeding easy for me.”

Malruk’s annoyance is easy enough to sense. Wyrsa smirks triumphantly as the same red-haired Miqo’te walks out of the Bismarck holding a cloth-wrapped bundle in both hands. She glances around before noticing the seated voidsent. To his surprise, she walks up to him and sets the dark blue bundle on the table. 

“Excuse me, are you Malruk?” she asks, green eyes fixing him with a curious gaze. 

He smiles and leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. 

“I am. How may I serve you, miss?”

Her eyes widen subtly; slit pupils dilate ever so slightly and her ears perk forward upon hearing his deep, rough voice. Smug satisfaction reflexively makes his smile shift into a smirk. He catches himself just as she seems to shake off her stupor.

“Here’s your order,” she replies and taps the bundle. “Two lunch specials, one with seared lamb instead of dodo.”

“Excellent. Thank you.” 

A flush spreads across her cheeks at the purr in his voice. Their fingers touch when he hands over the payment. Taking advantage of the brief contact, Wyrsa draws the smallest amount of her aether. A hum vibrates in his throat as he makes note of her aetheric scent. The woman’s flush deepens—an effect of the voidsent sampling her essence. He offers the Miqo’te a slow smile and picks up the bundled meal.

“I  _ do _ hope to see you again, miss,” he purrs and takes his leave with a wink.

Malruk hisses as he returns to the Drowning Wench. 

_ Don’t tell me you marked her. _

“No, boy, I did not. I merely want to be sure I can find her later; there’s promise in that one.”

_ You really don’t have any shame. Prospecting another source when the one you  _ **_claim_ ** _ to be your favorite is recovering from you nearly killing them. _

“Precisely why I need to look for more,” Wyrsa counters. “The more aetheric sources I secure, the less often I need to prey on those I already have—my pet, included.  _ They _ can become a treat instead of a necessity.”

He finds you exactly where he left you, at a table in the tavern, but you had dozed off in his absence. The sight of you slumped onto the table sends a brief pang of worry through the voidsent. It takes every onze of his will not to rush forward as he instead forces himself to calmly cross the tavern to your table. The Hyur is mercifully silent.

Wyrsa gently sets the bundle on the table before placing his hand on your shoulder. A soft shake stirs you from your sleep and you blink up at him drowsily. His relieved sigh morphs into a warm chuckle as he unpacks your lunch.

“Seems you still need your rest. Let’s get some food in you before taking you back to the room.”

He slides an open container towards you and places a set of utensils within your reach. The voidsent waits for you to nod approvingly at the sight of the meal before he signals a waitress to refill the jar of water and bring a spare cup. 

Hesitation sweeps through him, rooting him in place when he cannot decide where to sit relative to you. Typically, he never had to wine  _ or _ dine his prey; general social interactions were left to the Hyur. Malruk sighs.

_ And you were doing so well. Sit across from them; you don’t want to make them feel crowded by sitting beside them. _

The voidsent hums in understanding as he takes the suggested seat. Forgetting his own lunch of seared lamb and grains, he watches you ravenously devour your food. He smiles against his will and idly wonders if you can even taste it. His amusement escapes him in a soft chuckle.

A bashful blush tinges your cheeks. You visibly slow down when you become aware of the creature watching you. Wyrsa leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. A smirk twists his thin lips.

“Don’t worry on my account,” he purrs. “I rather enjoy watching others eat.”

Your question should have been expected, but it still catches the voidsent off guard. Black eyebrows trace twin arcs over yellow eyes just before they glance down at the food in front of him.

“I would think you more aware of what I subsist on, pet. I leave  _ him _ to take care of the day to day necessities of our shared vessel; it is only fair, considering it was his to start with.” His fingers lightly drum on the container holding his meal. “As such, it has been…  _ longer _ than I would care to admit since the last time  _ I _ ate what you would consider food.”

Understanding lights up your eyes and you nod, motioning for him to eat as well. Wyrsa looks at his food. He has to admit, it  _ does _ smell good. The sight of the strips of pink lamb makes his mouth water.

_ Please use the fork and knife instead of just tearing into it with our teeth. _

Wyrsa growls; his hands pick up said utensils.

“I  _ am _ aware of how to eat, boy,” he spits. 

_ Your capability for eating isn’t in question,  _ Malruk retorts.  _ It’s more so whether you know how to use a knife and fork for something other than killing. _

“I will have you know that we had these on the Thirteenth, once,” Wyrsa hisses, slicing a strip of lamb in half and spearing it with his fork. 

Wyrsa catches a ripple of curiosity in your aether as he lifts the morsel to his mouth. He pauses, raising an eyebrow when you slowly meet his gaze. This time, he’s expecting your question and responds with a readied reply.

“There are things best left unexplained, my pet. I’ve said more to  _ you _ than I have to most of your kind.”

To his surprise, however, you press the issue. His lips twitch, nearly baring his fangs in a warning snarl—then he recalls Malruk’s challenge. Wyrsa clamps his lips together and grits his teeth.

“Isn’t it obvious what I am? I inhabit the body of another and require blood to survive. There aren’t many ways to classify me.”

Your concession comes in the form of a silent nod. The voidsent keeps his gaze trained on you as your eyes study his face. Your next question leaves him stunned. He stares blankly at you; even Malruk seems unsure of how to respond.

“How do…  _ I _ look?” Wyrsa echoes hesitantly. He scoffs before responding. “Why does it matter? You won’t see me outside of this vessel.”

Something subtly changes in your face. It passes and you resume eating before Wyrsa can get a good look at it, but he senses Malruk’s piqued curiosity. The Hyur had always been better than him at catching the nuances of expressions. The voidsent instead focuses on your aether, which he finds dulled and flattened with disappointment. Unsure of how to respond or even react, Wyrsa also goes back to eating.

His gaze sweeps the ever-bustling tavern room as the two of you eat. An idea springs to mind when a passing male Xaela catches his yellow eyes. Wyrsa gets your attention by lightly drumming on the table and points at the other man.

“If I had to provide an example, I would say my  _ true _ appearance would be similar to one of the Xaela.”

You follow his finger to the male Au Ra and study him for a moment before nodding. Wyrsa watches your aether bubble up with interest. A knot forms in his throat at the sight as his face begins to heat up; he drops his gaze before you can catch him looking at you. 

The two of you finish your meal in silence. 


	4. Chapter 4

You return home one evening to find a paper tucked between the front door and its frame. You take a deep breath; you already know who sent it. A single word is written on the folded page: Bismarck. Confused as to _why_ he would want to meet you there instead of somewhere more remote, you head for Limsa Lominsa.

You arrive in the sea-breeze swept city and go directly to the upper decks. Upon reaching the restaurant, you search among those waiting to be seated for the black-haired Highlander. 

He isn’t there. 

An annoyed frown settles on your face as you cross your arms and wander away from the front of the restaurant. Could he have left already? How long had that message been in your door? Why didn’t he just wait for you instead of leaving a cryptic message?

A clawed hand roughly grabs your shoulder from behind. It spins you around so you stare up at a male Au Ra whose black scales gleam in the moonlight. His glowing yellow eyes pierce you as his hand grips your shoulder—albeit more gently this time. His gaze softens and his other hand runs through his long, messy, black hair.

“Forgive me, my pet. I should have known better than to think you would recognize me like this.”

You gasp at the low, rough voice and say his name. He smirks. The two horns that sweep forward near his jaw _glint_ as they catch the light of the moon when he bows; his long, thick tail curves downward when he does so, continuing the bend in his spine.

“I would feed from you tonight, but I would like to ensure you’re fully nourished beforehand,” he purrs in explanation. “I wish to avoid endangering you again.”

Your eyes follow his as he straightens up and peers down at you. You ask the question on the tip of your tongue. His smirk softens into a smile; the tips of his claws gently trace the edge of your jaw.

“He agreed to let me alter his body for one night. This is the closest I can get to my actual appearance without standing out. I thought it fitting considering your interest the last time we spoke."

You find yourself leaning into his touch. His thin lips slowly stretch into a smirk. The voidsent adjusts his hold, cupping the side of your face with his large hand. He bends down to kiss you; the tips of his horns scrape against your skin as his lips brush yours. His glowing eyes study you from beneath heavy lids. The look within them is enough to send a flare of heat through you.

“You are too easy of prey, my pet,” he whispers. “My hunts are typically more involved.”

Your pulse quickens. A low chuckle and he takes a step back to extend a hand towards you. You take it without hesitation.

“Come. Let us eat.”

Wyrsa insists you order whatever you like from the menu. During the meal itself, he asks you questions between bites of his barely-cooked steak. At first you aren’t sure what to make of the voidsent inquiring about your comparatively mundane life, but the curiosity seems genuine on his part and you quickly warm up to it—especially when he bursts into a deep laughter at one of your stories.

At the end of the meal, you ask if he would like to order dessert. He responds with a fanged grin that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Don’t you worry; I already have plans for dessert,” he purrs from across the table.

He pays the check and refuses to let you even look at it, claiming it would be _rude_. When the two of you leave the bustling restaurant, Wyrsa wraps a scaled arm around your shoulders and slowly guides you to Limsa’s lower decks. Your arm reflexively hugs his waist; in response, his thick tail partially curls around you as if to hold you closer.

Upon reaching the entrance to a dark alley, Wyrsa pauses and looks into it. He strokes your shoulder while his tail rubs your leg. Shivers race through you at the dual motions.

“I could take you in there, but it seems rather impersonal at this point, doesn’t it?” he asks and turns to face you. “I would take you to our home in Gridania, if you don’t mind. I believe you’ve been there before; I can transport both of us there.”

You nod when he glances at you. The smirk twisting his lips is at odds with the pink tingeing the fleshy parts of his cheeks. He pulls you into the alley and pins you against the wall. You gasp at the unexpected action considering what he had just suggested. The disguised voidsent lets out a rough chuckle just before kissing you. His large frame blocks out the rest of the alley as he presses himself closer.

The kiss grows rough, letting you sense his hunger. One clawed hand grasps your shoulder while the other slips between you and the wall, clutching you close to him. A low growl turns into a moan as he nips your lower lip with his fangs. Warmth radiates from the bite and you instinctively cling to him. 

“Not yet,” he murmurs, almost reproachfully. His deep voice reverberates inside of your chest. 

He fixes you with his glowing eyes as darkness devours you.

When the darkness dissipates, you find yourself in the Lavender Beds. Something hard presses into your spine as Wyrsa pushes you backwards for another kiss. He braces himself with one hand against whatever you’re leaning into while the other tightens its grip on your shoulder. The voidsent breaks the kiss to nip at your neck. You gasp at the sudden pleasure that spreads through your body.

He growls into your skin and forcibly pulls himself away.

“Apologies,” he snarls. “Here I am showing my impatience. I promised you dessert first, didn’t I?” 

One hand fumbles behind you while the other holds you steady. The door behind you opens and the voidsent carries you inside. He sets you down on the kitchen counter where you remember the _other_ him having cooked breakfast on a few occasions. You idly wonder what he must be thinking—if he’s even aware.

“Have you ever had an Azim strawberry, pet?” Wyrsa asks and pulls a small basket of red berries from a cabinet along with a pot of honey. “They tend towards tart, but the honey does wonders to offset it.”

The disguised voidsent takes one of the small, red berries and drizzles honey onto it. He lifts it to your lips with a soft smirk and heavy-lidded eyes.

“Try it,” he purrs.

He gently presses the honeyed berry to your mouth. His lips mirror yours as you part them to accept the fruit. The sweetness of the honey coats your tongue, only to be cut through by the tartness of the strawberry. You smile and swallow. He mirrors the gesture, releasing a heavy breath. 

Wyrsa leans closer to you; you instinctively part your legs, letting him rest against the counter between your thighs. The claws on his right hand gently trace a path from your waist to your knee while his left prepares another strawberry.

“More?” he asks in a husky voice.

You open your mouth in response and extend your tongue for the next berry. While you chew, you notice the honey on the voidsent’s clawed thumb. You grab Wyrsa’s wrist before he can withdraw his hand and slowly lick the honey off, taking the digit into your mouth to suck off the sweet, sticky residue.

His jaw clenches. You just barely manage to hear his stifled moan, but you do plainly see the flush taking over his face. Wyrsa’s right hand clutches your thigh. Before he can ask if you’d like more strawberries, you pluck one from the basket and dip it into the pot of honey. Flipping it carefully so you don’t drip any onto him, you hold it out to the voidsent. He slowly leans in and takes the berry into his mouth. 

Wyrsa’s glowing eyes dart down to your palm where you notice some honey had fallen. He gingerly takes your wrist and holds it in place, giving him a chance to lick the honey from your palm. His tongue is surprisingly rough against your skin, but the sensation sends shivers down your spine.

When he releases your hand, you dip another strawberry into the honey. His eyes follow the path of the fruit from your side to the slowly diminishing space between your bodies. Again, he lowers his face to eat out of your hand, bracing himself against the counter serving as your seat. 

Recalling a rumour you once heard regarding Au Ra, you lift your other hand and gingerly run your fingers along the top of the black horn growing from the side of his head. The scaled protrusion is smoother than you would have thought, considering its appearance. 

Wyrsa twitches away from your touch and bares his fangs at you with a low growl. The sound sets your blood on _fire_ ; your heart leaps up into your throat. Ignoring his snarled warning, you pull him in by the collar of his black shirt and kiss him. The voidsent initially tenses—you feel him ready to pull away—but he relaxes after a moment. 

He takes control. The tall Au Ra leans in, slipping his tongue into your mouth. The rough appendage tastes what it can and he moans into you. Your arms reflexively wrap around him, leveraging you into his broad chest. His clawed hands dig into your waist as he pulls you to the edge of the counter. 

You break from the kiss, gasping for air. Your eyes slip closed as you tilt your head back in silent invitation to the voidsent. His satisfied growl rumbles through the air and into your chest, vibrating down your spine. He cradles the back of your head with a supporting hand while the other presses into your lower back. Heat seeps into your skin from both locations and you melt into his hold.

The bite hurts as much as ever and it doesn’t help that the tips of his horns painfully dig into your flesh on either side of the wound. The pleasure that follows, however, draws a moan to your lips and makes you forget the pain. Wyrsa echoes the sound as he drinks from your neck. Something hard presses against your inner thigh. He abruptly stops and whispers unknown words into the bite. It stitches closed. 

Your head lolls back in your pleasure-induced haze. You whine as you force yourself to look directly into his yellow eyes. You wriggle closer to the edge of the counter while your hands twist into his shirt. He kisses you before you can beg him to finish and you taste your blood on his rough tongue. 

“That was merely a _sample_ , my pet,” he purrs. “Get the honey.”

You blink at him in your daze, but pick up the small, glass pot. He sweeps you into his arms and turns to the staircase leading down to his bedroom.

You wake the following morning in a warm bed. When you try to turn over, a heavy weight descends on you, pinning you in place.

“Stay,” a deep voice growls. 

Startled, you twist around to find yourself in the arms of a Xaela. He pulls you up towards his face and nuzzles the tender spot in front of your ear. His tongue comes out to lick something from your cheek. He smirks and lets out a satisfied hum.

“You still had some honey,” he murmurs sleepily.

You stare at the man. He settles his head on the pillow as his yellow eyes watch you; somehow they seem even more radiant than the night before. Something felt… _off_.

Normally, the morning following the voidsent’s feeding sessions, you would wake in bed with the _other_ him. His Hyuran counterpart had once explained that Wyrsa needed to rest whenever he fed so as to fully recover his spent aether.

 _This_ time, however, the arms hold you a little tighter than usual and his gaze is focused, like that of a predator watching prey. The smirk twisting his lips is a far cry from the warm smile that typically awaited you. You watch it grow when you say his name. Propping himself up on an elbow, Wyrsa leans in to kiss your bare shoulder. With a start, you realize you’re naked—as is _he_. 

Your eyes trace the black scales covering most of his pale body. Your gaze stops at the dark blue blanket draped across his waist. You try to remember what happened the previous night, but only find it to be a pleasurable blur. He relaxes into the pillow once more; his eyes drift closed as he takes your hand and threads his fingers through yours.

“I wanted to see you once more before I rest,” he explains in a tired voice. “The boy can see to feeding you; I believe he has a new recipe he wants to try.” Wyrsa smiles. “Until next time, my pet.”

He relaxes for a brief moment before his eyes ease open. He blinks at you and smiles.

“Good morning.”

His voice is gentle and warm. You return the gesture. With a quiet groan, he sits up and stretches; joints crack and pop as he moves, but your eyes fall to the blanket pooling in his lap. He follows your gaze with a curious hum.

A surprised gasp follows. He snatches the blanket in both hands and tugs it higher. An exasperated growl flows through clenched teeth while a flush floods his face beneath his scales.

“I am going to _banish_ him,” he hisses. “I don’t care what happens to me he’s—”

You sit up and cut him off with a kiss. His shoulders slouch as both hands move to hold you. He sighs and kisses your forehead.

“A little banishing? Just a touch?”

You smack him in the chest, but his mock puppy eyes make you smile. After a moment he sighs again and throws his hands up in the air, letting the blanket fall back to his lap. The sight of the small, black scales trailing down from his belly button bring some of the hazy memories into focus. You feel your cheeks blush at the thought.

“ _Fine_ , no banishing,” he concedes with a roguish smirk of his own. “Just for you.”

He glances down at himself before examining his scaled arms. Another sigh leaves his lips as a hand comes up to inspect his horns.

“And he left me an Au Ra, at that. I’ll have to find a way to explain this to the kitten.” His yellow eyes turn to you just before he nods to where your clothes are scattered. “Shall we get dressed for breakfast? I faintly remember the two of you finishing what honey I had in that pot, but I’m sure you’re hungry for real sustenance by now.”

Your blush deepens, recalling just how _far_ the two of you had gone the previous night. It wasn’t a feeding you would soon forget.

The other man smiles in his disarming way and slides out of bed to fetch his clothes strewn across the room. Your eyes immediately focus on his form and the way his long, thick tail flexes and sways with each step. With an immense show of will, you tear your eyes away and focus on getting dressed. 

His breakfast was rather good, you remember; and he was always a perfect gentleman. You find yourself wondering what this one had planned for _this_ morning...

...and how soon Wyrsa would call on you again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :D


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